


We Are Made to Bend

by elrhiarhodan



Series: The Wonder(ful) Years Verse [21]
Category: White Collar
Genre: GSW, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, wonder(ful) years
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 14:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3175874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An immediate sequel to the Wonder(ful) Years story, <a href="http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/286199.html">What Doesn’t Bend, Breaks</a>.  Peter is finally released from the hospital and he and Neal try to find their way back to themselves.  The first steps on a journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Made to Bend

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my [Timestamp Meme](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/458829.html), for , and she asked for something from [The Wonder(ful) Years](http://elrhiarhodan.livejournal.com/tag/white%20collar%20series%3A%20wonder%28ful%29%20years), scenes from the boys reunion and Peter's recovery after **What Doesn't Bend, Breaks**.

“Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” His mother fussed over him like, well, a mother.

“Yes, mom. I’ll be fine.” He smiled and tried, through sheer force of will, to project an aura of health and competence.

She looked at him uncertainly, “Hmm. Maybe we should stay a few more days.”

“Cathy, no. It’s time to go home and give the boys some privacy.” His father put his foot down and Peter was exceedingly grateful. “Neal’s here, there’s a visiting nurse coming twice a day, and frankly, I want my own bed.” Before his mother could offer to tell him that he could go home if he really wanted, his father grabbed her hand, pulled her into his arms and said, “My own bed with my own wife.”

Peter smiled, a bit more genuinely this time, as his mother blushed. He loved having his parents nearby while he was in the hospital. It meant that he was never alone, but now that he was home, he wanted – needed – them to go. 

Neal stood nearby. He was smiling too. Peter could see the strain on his face, though. The five months of their separation, the intensity of the deep-cover operation Neal had just wrapped up, not to mention his own injury, had left their mark on the man he loved so much.

Neal stepped forward, wrapping his arms around his parents. Peter’s heart sank a little at his words. “You can stay, there’s plenty of room here.” Then rose in relief, when Neal added, “But I think you both need to rest and recover, too.”

His mother gave Neal a very pointed look. She wasn’t fooled for a minute, although she joked, “You just want to have your wicked way with my son.”

“Mom!” Peter was appalled. His parents didn’t need to know about their sex life - not that they were going to have much of one until his injuries healed.

“Oh, hush. We’ll get out of your hair now.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “If there’s anything you need, either you or Neal, call us. Okay?”

“Yes, mom.”

His father stood there, hands in his pockets, a sly grin on his face. Peter was almost terrified at what was going to come out of _his_ mouth. But his dad surprised him, just telling Peter to take it easy, let his body heal, and follow the doctors’ orders.

“I will, I promise.”

Mindful of his healing shoulder and torso, his father just tousled his hair. “Take it easy on Neal, too.”

“Yeah, I will.” If he had any doubts about sending his folks home it was because the weight of his care would fall squarely on Neal.

His dad leaned over and kissed his cheek too. It was one of the things he always loved about the man, how he was never afraid to show affection. 

Finally, Neal managed to usher his folks out of the bedroom and downstairs to the waiting Town Car that would take them home to Brookville Falls. Peter leaned back against the pillows and appreciated the utter silence in the room. Well, silent as compared to the ever-present noise of the hospital. The monitors and the paging system, the nurses and aides and cleaners bustling in and out of his room often made un-drugged sleep impossible. He closed his eyes and listened to the familiar sounds of city traffic, the whoosh of the heating system, even the very faint rumble of the elevator.

It was so good to be home. It was even better to be home with Neal. That was the most important thing of all.

In the two weeks since he’d woken up to find Neal at his bedside, they’d had little privacy and less chance to talk. His parents were never far away during visiting hours and colleagues were frequent visitors. 

Peter knew that Neal had forgiven him for his cruelty, his thoughtless words, but he still needed to apologize for those words and more importantly, for the wedge he’d driven between them during the months before the assignment. How he’d let his envy at Neal’s rapid advancement sour their personal relationship. Thinking about his behavior made him sick and sad. He didn’t deserve Neal, he didn’t deserve forgiveness, he didn’t … Tears rolled down the side of his face.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Are you in a lot of pain?” 

Caught up in his own misery, Peter didn’t hear his partner come back into the bedroom.

Neal was leaning over the bed, his eyes filled with worry. “Do you want me to see if I can chase down your folks, have them come back?”

“No, no. Oh, god, no.” He rolled his head against the pillow, as much to deny Neal’s offer as to hide his face.

“Do you need a pain killer?”

“No, I’m okay.” The words came out sharper than he’d intended.

Neal stepped back and Peter could feel the distance like a sudden vacuum. “Do you want me to go, just let you rest?”

The apology was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t – not yet. Not when he was so close to breaking down. “Maybe that’s what I need. Okay?” He turned to face Neal, hating the worry clouding those beautiful eyes. “I think I’m just worn out from everything. Probably just need a chance to sleep where no one comes in to wake me to give me a sleeping pill.”

Neal smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All right then, rest.” He kissed him, a light, gentle brushing of lips that didn’t last long enough, and left their bedroom, turning out the light.

Peter must have been more tired than he thought, because – surprisingly – he slept.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Neal left the bedroom door open, just a little bit, so he could hear Peter if he called out for help. He wondered if he should get Peter a bell or something to ring in case he needed him. The apartment was large and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hear Peter – especially since his injuries would make calling out difficult.

He stood at the other side of the door and contemplated fetching a chair so he could sit in the hallway and keep watch, but quickly discarded the idea. He’d check up on Peter every half-hour or so, but he wasn’t going to hover. That wouldn’t do either of them any good.

It felt good to be home, even though this wasn’t the first time he’d been at the apartment since he’d ensnared Kuroda. Most of his days were spent either in closed door debriefings with the FBI or in Peter’s hospital room until he was ordered to leave. The first few nights after he’d brought the curtain down on his undercover operation, he’d gone back to the FBI-provided apartment in Lower Manhattan, just on the off-chance that he was still being tailed. After a week of maintaining his cover, Hughes confirmed that he was clear to be “Neal Caffrey” again. 

It was funny, but he didn’t want to sleep in their bed until Peter was home. It felt wrong and uncomfortable, but Aunt Cathy and Uncle Joe were staying here – it didn’t make sense to put them up in a hotel when the apartment had four bedrooms. Neal didn’t want to explain to Peter’s parents why he wasn’t sleeping where he was supposed to be sleeping, so he cowboyed up and did his best not to feel so lost.

The pillows and sheets smelled faintly of Peter, but it wasn’t enough to comfort him. After tossing for hours, he went into the bathroom and rooted through the hamper. He was never so grateful that Peter hadn’t done his laundry for a few days. There was a week’s worth of dirty undershirts and Neal actually stuffed a pillow into one, holding it close and breathing deeply. Neal refused to think how silly this was, considering that he’d spent the past five months without Peter. At least he was able to sleep for more than ten minutes without waking up, alone and disoriented from some vague nightmare.

Maybe tonight they’d share a bed. Maybe tonight he wouldn’t dream of death and disaster.

Just as Neal headed downstairs, the intercom buzzed. Neal figure it was Albert at the front door letting him know that the drugstore had dropped off Peter’s prescriptions. It wasn’t.

_“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Caffrey - but you have a visitor. Says his name is Hughes. Should I send him up?”_

“Okay - sure. And have the prescriptions arrived for Mr. Burke?”

_“Yeah - sorry, I was about to call when your visitor arrived. You want me to have him bring them up?”_ Albert reluctantly asked.

“Please, I’d appreciate that.” He’d have to remember to tip Albert the next time he went out. The doormen had a nice racket going, but Neal didn’t mind paying for the privilege.

He didn’t want Agent Hughes to ring the bell, and possibly wake Peter, so Neal waited at front door, more than a bit concerned at the reason for this visit. He heard the elevator stop and the doors slide open. His guest appeared, as silent as a ghost; the plush carpet that lined the hallway muffling the man’s footsteps.

“Caffrey.” Agent Hughes’ greeting was as gruff as usual, giving him no indication as to reason for his visit. 

“Sir - come in.” Neal took his boss into the living room, more than slightly worried that he wouldn’t hear Peter if he called.

“Thank you. Understand that Peter was released from the hospital this morning. How’s he doing?” He handed him the bag that the pharmacy left with Albert.

“Sleeping, I hope. He was exhausted.”

“I can understand that. Hard to get any rest when the nurse comes in in the middle of the night, wakes you up and tells you it’s time for your sleeping pill.”

Neal smiled. “Yeah, that was one of Peter’s biggest complaints. That, and the lack of privacy.”

Agent Hughes gave him a thin smile and Neal had to wonder just what the man was thinking. When he’d brought him the news of Peter’s shooting, then dropped the bombshell that he knew about their personal relationship, he’d been quick to reassure Neal that there would be no repercussions against them.

Neal hadn’t discussed this with Peter, although he had with Uncle Joe, who’d mentioned that their boss was a wonderful human being, constantly singing his praises. Who’d have thought that the man - an FBI agent for more than two decades - was actually such a enlightened individual?

Neal wasn’t sure how much leverage Agent Hughes had with the brass. Both he and Peter knew that the Bureau had entered into a consent decree in the Frank Buttino case three years ago, but they’d both figured that the higher ups were just going to pay lip service to the ruling – wasn’t that always the way it was? They had no reason to believe that if anyone found out that they were gay, they’d be able to keep their badges. He still wasn’t all that sure. 

Neal couldn’t help but worry that their boss was here to gently break the news about their impending termination. Hughes was very hard to read. “Is anything wrong, sir?”

“No - I just wanted to see how you and Peter were doing. How Peter was feeling.”

Neal shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged. “Peter’s doing okay. Like I said before, he’s exhausted. Getting out of the hospital took hours, then getting home and settled. He’s still in a lot of pain.”

Hughes made something of a face. “Could I get a cup of coffee - maybe we could sit down and talk?”

“Let me check on Peter first, then coffee – will that be okay?”

“Sure.” Hughes sat down in one of the club chairs by the fireplace. Neal ran up to check on Peter, who was not only sound asleep, but snoring ever so slightly. He came back downstairs.

“That was quick. Peter okay?”

“Yeah. Out like a light - not surprised.” Neal dithered for a moment, not sure whether to treat his boss like his boss, or like a welcomed guest. “Coffee? Or something stronger?”

Agent Hughes checked his watch. “Well, it’s late enough. How about something stronger?”

Neal had to grin. “Scotch, neat?” He remembered the man’s preference from last year’s holiday party

“Perfect.”

Neal went to the small wet bar, fixed the drink, but decided that alcohol was the last thing _he_ needed, and poured himself a glass of club soda.

“Here.”

Agent Hughes took the tumbler, and then a sip. Neal sat down across from him and waited. The man was here for a reason and he’d tell him in his own sweet time.

“I was shot in the line of duty, too.”

That wasn’t what he had expected to hear. “Sir?”

“I was about Peter’s age - your age. Practically a lifetime ago, during my first assignment after I’d finished my probationary term. I’d been assigned to the Organized Crime division, right here in New York. On the Genovese Family taskforce – it was a really big deal and I thought I had balls of solid brass.”

Neal knew that a big part of that division was broken up into sections – taskforces – dedicated to each of the five major New York crime families. It had been that way since the Seventies. There was no more prestigious assignment than Organized Crime. “What happened?”

“I was young and stupid and arrogant. I’d gotten in the face of one of Frank Tieri’s soldiers and I insulted his mother. A criminally stupid thing to do. Two nights later, the bastard shot me as I was on my way home. Thank god the little shit had bad aim. He only got me once in the shoulder before he ran off.”

Agent Hughes put down his glass and rubbed at the old wound. “I spent a few days in the hospital and two months riding a desk. And another two years terrified of walking alone at night. Of a million other things – ordinary things.” He sighed. “I almost lost my wife because of that. I became a very angry man - the anger was the only way I could cover the fear.”

“But you got over your fear, right? You never get angry. You’re one of the most respected agents in the Bureau. They won’t even let you retire.”

Hughes chuckled. “They’re going to have to, sooner or later.” He licked his lips. “But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. The two of you are going to have a tough road ahead.”

Neal wasn’t sure what Agent Hughes was trying to tell him. “Because we’re gay?”

“That, to be honest, is the least of your problems. I’m talking about how you and Peter are going to deal with the aftermath of his shooting, your undercover assignment. You’ve got a double-whammy ahead of you. Right now, you’re focused on Peter and that’s good, but you’ll have to reintegrate back into a normal routine soon enough.”

Neal was beginning to understand what he was hearing. “And Peter’s going to have to deal with all the crap – excuse me – the fallout from his shooting.”

“Yes. He’s going to be short-tempered, anxious, angry. Needy at times, too. He’ll be impatient with people trying to help him, become resentful at his inability to function normally.”

_Inability to function normally..._ Neal hoped like hell that his boss wasn’t talking about sex. At least the apartment wasn’t brightly lit, so Agent Hughes couldn’t see him blushing.

“And Peter’s going to have to deal with your own issues. Coming back from a long deep-cover assignment is just as difficult as recovering from a shooting. You’re going to be short-tempered, anxious – ”

“Angry, resentful, et cetera.” Neal grimaced. “I get the picture. The both of us, separately, are in for a rough time. Together, it’s going to be a pretty toxic brew.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Neal had to joke, “So - what do you recommend? Therapy?” 

But Agent Hughes didn’t laugh. “That’s exactly what I was going to recommend. There are psychologists on the Bureau payroll, and you’ll probably be ordered to attend a few sessions. But I strongly recommend seeing someone privately. And …” He picked up his glass and drained it, “I might be overstepping the boundaries here, but you and Peter might benefit from couples therapy.”

Neal blinked and retreated to formality. “Sir?”

“I’ve been around the block more than a few times, son. How do you think I saved my own marriage?”

“Peter and I aren’t married.” Neal bit his lip. He hated saying that. He hated the very fact that they couldn’t get married, that they’d always be denied that.

“But you might as well be. The world is changing and there are some ugly laws out there now, because people are scared of change. Don’t lose what you have because you don’t know how to take care of it. There must be resources for homosex - for _gay_ couples.”

Neal was almost moved to tears. How the hell did Agent Hughes know how much of a slur that word was. But all he said was, “There are.”

“Then use them. You’re not an idiot, Caffrey – but you can be stubborn. You need to take care of yourself, you need to take care of what you have with Peter. And if you think for a moment I’m not going to have this conversation with him, you’re wrong.”

At that, Agent Hughes got up. “I’m heading home. It’s been a long day. Just want to tell you that I’ve signed off on two weeks’ leave for you. You’ll probably have to come in for a few more debriefings, but other than that - you’re on vacation. Under different circumstances, I’d tell you to go someplace warm and sunny and sip frou-frou drinks, but …”

“Yeah - _but..._ I really don’t think that a vacation in the Bahamas is in the cards at the moment. Got some stuff to do.” 

“That’s the understatement of the year, son.” Agent Hughes gave him that thin smile again, but he also rested his hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’ll stop back in a few days to see how you two are doing.”

Neal showed him to the door and watched, hands in his pockets, as Agent Hughes headed back to the elevator. Of all the things he’d expected, this nearly paternal concern was never on the list. He closed the door and picked up the bag from the pharmacy. He needed to check the prescriptions against Peter’s hospital discharge instructions, which were in the bedroom. 

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard Peter cry out, “Neal!” The sound of his name, so hoarse and sad, sent chills through him.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter struggled against the bindings, something was holding him back. Arms, ropes – he didn’t know what, but he needed to get to Neal and he couldn’t.

 _“Shh, take it easy, it’s okay. I’m here, Peter. I’m here.”_

He knew that voice, he’d longed to hear it say his name and he’d feared he never would again. He opened his eyes, although they felt like they were weighted shut. But the face hovering over him made the effort worth the struggle. “Neal?”

“I’m here.” 

Neal’s hand felt cool on his forehead and he turned his cheek into that palm. “Thank god.”

“Bad dream?”

“Yeah. ” Peter blinked and became more aware of himself and his surroundings. “I’m home.”

Neal smiled at him and the universe seemed to right itself. “Yes, you’re home, in our bed. I’m here. Everything will be okay.”

He sighed, wincing a bit as the motion pulled against healing bone and muscle. “I’m home.” The word, a simple syllable, sounded wonderful.

“Yeah, you are.” Neal sat on the edge of the bed. “Do you want me to help you sit up?”

“Mmm.” Peter closed his eyes again, letting his other senses take over. He could feel Neal’s body heat, something he’d longed for, for so long. “Can I just stay like this?”

“If you want.” The mattress shifted as Neal got up.

Peter opened his eyes, unhappy at Neal’s sudden absence. “Where are you going?”

“Just checking to see if it’s time for you to take your medication.” Neal just went as far as the dresser on the other side of the room.

“Don’t want any more painkillers.”

Neal looked back at him, a bottle of pills in one hand. “You sure?”

“Yeah – they make me all muddled. They give me nightmares, too.” Peter managed to lever himself into an upright position.

Neal came back with a pill and opened the bottle of water that he’d left on the nightstand earlier. “Okay, no painkillers, but you need to take the antibiotic.”

Peter took the pill and a sip of water, all but gagging at the foul taste of the medication. “What’s this made of, dog crap?” He finished the bottle in an effort to clean the foul taste from his mouth.

Neal laughed. “I don’t think you really want to know.”

“Hmm. Thought I heard voices before, but maybe I was dreaming?”

“No, Agent Hughes stopped by.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he wanted to see how you were doing.”

Peter had spoken briefly with his boss – their boss – a few times when he was in the hospital. Hughes had made it clear, in not-so-subtle terms, that he couldn’t care less that he and Neal had a personal relationship, as long as it didn’t interfere with the job. “He’s a good man.”

Neal agreed. “I realized something a little funny.”

“What, I could use a laugh.” Or maybe not, laughing was still painful.

“He calls you ‘Peter’ but calls me ‘Caffrey’.”

Peter did laugh, to his regret. “And you know what, when _I_ talk with him, he calls you ‘Neal’ and me, ‘Burke’. So what do you make of that?”

Neal sat back down and the mattress dipped, disturbing the haphazard collection of pillows that propped him up. Peter shifted awkwardly, managing to reach around and grab one as Neal tried to intervene. “Let me, you’ll just hurt yourself.”

He hated feeling so helpless that he couldn’t move a pillow, and he batted Neal’s hand away. “I got it, I got it.” He thought he did and tugged, freeing the offending object. Except the pillow remained stuck at the small of his back and he was left holding just the case.

Except that it wasn’t a pillowcase, but what looked like one of his undershirts. “What the – ”

Neal grabbed it out of his hand; he crumpled it up and tried to stuff it in his pants pocket. 

“What was my undershirt doing as a pillowcase?” That seemed like a reasonable question, except that Neal turned bright red, then as white as the garment in question. “Neal?”

“The past few nights, when I first came home. I couldn’t sleep here, without you. I found your undershirt in the hamper and put it on the pillow because, well – ” Neal bit his lip and looked at him from under his lashes. “You’re going to laugh, but because it smelled like you and it made it a lot less lonely to be back here without you.”

Peter wasn’t going to laugh, but he wasn’t so certain he wasn’t going to cry. “I wish I’d thought of that. All those nights, when I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t change the linens for two weeks.”

Neal reached out and grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“What have you got to be sorry for? I’m the one who – ”

Neal shook his head, cutting him off. “I shouldn’t have left without saying goodbye. I should have tried to reach you when I was in Tokyo – before the undercover operation started. That was really unforgivable.”

“No, no. You have nothing to apologize for. I behaved like a total shit again. If I hadn’t been such an asshole, you never would have taken the assignment. Or at least, you wouldn’t have been so angry at me. We could have talked about it, found a way to stay in contact.”

“Peter – ”

“No, listen to me, Neal. Please. I was an asshole to you - _again_ \- and not just because of the assignment. And for the record, what I said to you that day – about not being able to handle the stress of deep cover – was complete and utter bullshit.”

Neal looked at him, puzzled. “You were worried about me. You might have been a little obnoxious about it, but you were worried.”

“No, Neal. I was jealous.” There, it was out in the open. “You were tapped for an opportunity I would have given my eye teeth for. I was mean and petty and jealous. And it wasn’t the first time. It had been eating at me for a long time. I let that get in the way of _us_ , and nothing should have been more important than that. Should _be_ more important.”

Neal didn’t speak for what seemed like an eon. Peter didn’t like how his eyes were shadowed, how he couldn’t read him. He clung to Neal’s hand, trying to hold on to something that seemed to be slipping away. At least he didn’t pull his hand free. 

Finally Neal said something. “I didn’t realize – I’m sorry.”

Peter was shocked. “Why are you apologizing to me? I’m the one who screwed us up.”

“No, maybe we both did. Maybe I was so focused on proving my worth that I didn’t consider what it would do to you, to us. We had made a pact – to keep our not only our relationship a secret, but our friendship too. Somehow, I think we forgot that we were friends. I think we forgot how important that is.” Neal squeezed his hand. “I never want to forget that again.”

Peter gripped Neal’s hand, ignoring how the muscles strained and pulled. “No, never, ever again. Ever.”

Neal pulled his hand free, but not to escape. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out next to him, ever so carefully wrapping him in his arms. “Remember the words we said to each other?”

Peter could only nod, his throat thick with unshed tears. He leaned back, rolling carefully into Neal, whose lips came to rest just below his ear.

Neal kissed him there and whispered,

_How do I love thee? Let me count the ways._  
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height  
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight  
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace. 

__

FIN


End file.
